


Aftermath

by MidnightCity



Category: Metro 2033 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Metro Last Light Universe, post redemption ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightCity/pseuds/MidnightCity
Summary: Artyom knew that he would not find Ulman in the crowd because his name was on the list of fallen Rangers.
Relationships: Artyom/Ulman
Kudos: 11





	1. After

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the same dynamic that I used in [Nightfall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552321) but it is not needed to have read it in advance

No Ranger thought that they were invincible, after all knowing their own skills and limits was the reason why they managed to survive so well. And yet, the loss they had suffered at the D6 was unbelieve. It seemed impossible to mourn so much death at once, and Artyom could feel this sentiment in the whole base. It radiated from their bones … everyone had lost comrades, friends, and family by blood and by choice in this battle.

There was not even enough time to mourn every soldier and friend alone. Instead Miller held a single service for all those gone forever. It was not enough for the ones cared deeply for but at the same time, who would be so heartless to ignore a Ranger’s death over another’s. Everyone who was able-bodied and had managed to the hall attended the service.

Artyom stood within what was left of their ranks, looking at his brothers in arms. Some Rangers holding others upright because it had been the only way they could be here. Others were biting their lips to control their emotions, while the next let the tears fall silently. A few left - too close to breaking and not wanting to show this when a name was mentioned.

It was so much pain that Artyom wanted to become numb to it. He could not understand how every single heartbeat hurt him. Who was he to survive this and so many did not?

As Artyom scanned the crowd, he hoped to find a familiar face; one he could trust, and maybe he would have the answers. He knew that he was looking for Ulman. Artyom wondered if Ulman would hide his tears, or simply let them fall given all this pain; sharing his pain with others and as such letting them know that they were not alone.

However, Artyom knew that he would not find Ulman in the crowd because his name was on the list of fallen Rangers.

Nobody had called it a victory as they had walked through the wrecked tunnel after the battle – looking for their wounded and dead. Artyom had hated it: He had hated collecting one dog tag after another. He had hated finding Ulman’s body – the blood still smeared over his face with an additional and surprisingly clean bullet hole on his forehead but a big mess at the back of it. Ulman’s eyes had been closed, as if he had seen his death coming.

Artyom had knelt next to him, gently stroking his cheek in the same way Ulman had done so many times for him. He had thought that Ulman had looked oddly at peace. As he had wanted to fish out the dog tag, his hand had brushed the Kalash and it had clattered to the floor; only for Artyom to realise that it had been empty. The mere thought of the horror that Ulman must have felt in that situation should have been enough to cause a breakdown. Instead, Artyom had only felt emptiness spread inside of him. From then on, numbing one emotion after another.

Even when Artyom had found out that Alex who had lain next to Ulman had been alive, he had not been able to feel the hopefulness that others had felt. The doctors had stated that Alex had only survived because someone had taken the time to bind the wound. Everyone knew that it must have been Ulman, that he must have tried to drag them to safety. After days of slipping in and out of consciousness, Alex had been able to confirm this. Eventually, someone had to tell Alex the truth: Ulman had died. Artyom had chosen to be that person.

Artyom had thought that feeling nothing would make this easier but as he had watched Alex slowly break down from the inside Artyom had only stood next to him. He had been unable to do anything, words had failed him, and he had not dared to touch him, he had not known what to do. Instead, he had fled the room, hating himself for his inability. He had wished for Ulman to be there with his uncanny talent to read people in pain, but he hadn’t been and Artyom had felt so much hatred for Ulman in that moment.

That hatred had eventually turned into a sadness that Artyom seemed unable to remove. He wished that he could cut it out and feel nothing again. The world did not grand him that wish.

“Ulman could really drive me up the walls with his jokes,” Artyom heard Miller’s voice as he drifted back at the mention of his name. There were a few quiet laughs and nods in agreement. Miller paused for a moment, and Artyom still noticed how pale their commander was. “I know many of you will miss them, and so will I. Ulman was an integral part of this family.”

Artyom bit his cheek, he knew that Ulman also referred to the Rangers as his family. He also knew that he had no-one outside of them. What would happen to the shoe box that stored his belongings now? Would it sit in their storage and collect dust until eventually it would rot away? Was this really all that would be left of him? 

At the thought a tear ran down his cheek. Maybe Ulman never wanted to be remembered but Artyom felt that he deserved more than just a dog tag and a half-empty box of clatter. Maybe this was how it happened in the Metro. How many people died one day and were already forgotten the next?

When the service finished, most Rangers had retreated into the canteen where they remained quiet as everyone was mourning and being lost in their memories. Artyom sat near Ulman’s friends but he could not talk to them.

“Damn shame if you ask me,” mumbled Vladimir as he took a shot of vodka.

“Oh come on, the kid wouldn’t want us to mope around because he died.” Artyom looked up at those words; there were not many people who would be allowed to refer to Ulman as _kid_ but it was Daniil who was almost 15 years Ulman’s senior. Artyom had noticed that they had had an ease that could only stem from knowing someone for a long time.

“Remember that time …” Daniil paused briefly to think. “… how about when Ulman showed some _Polis_ trainees how to properly roll after a fall and promptly broke his leg.”

Vladimir burst out laughing and nodded. “Jesus, Miller was pissed.”

“ _Sir, in order to teach them the right way you also have to show them the wrong one,_ ” Daniil mimicked Ulman’s intonations almost perfectly. “And he lay there with his fucking leg broken.”

Vladimir managed to hold back his laughter, and stated in an almost serious tone, “Miller _explicitly_ ordered him to _never. Do. That. Again.”_ Daniil snorted and at that Vladimir wheezed so hard from repressing laughter that tears began to form at the corner of his eyes.

“I think the exact order was to never be this _stupid_ again.”

“A very big order for a very cocky man.” 

“To be fair,” Daniil offered. “I did not train him to be this cocky. He came that way.”

At those words, Alex perked up and offered a story from the years in which Ulman had trained him. It was, again, a funny one but as the conversation grew and stories were passed around people also began to recount the gentler moments. Times when Ulman had offered a shoulder to lean on, and sometimes even stories in which Ulman had needed someone to help him. Artyom did not offer his own stories – those still felt to intimate, and he wanted to give Ulman the allowance to take these to the grave. In those small hours, Artyom had learned more about Ulman than in the last years. Now he could see how many lives he had touched.

Despite all the horrors Ulman must have seen, they all knew that he had tried hard to never lose the good inside of himself. Artyom wondered if that was the reason why Ulman had decided to be a Ranger. After all, when you can’t find kindness, didn’t you have to try to be the source? He had had a heart of gold and those were strange words to describe a man who could kill with his bare hands.

Artyom stayed in the canteen even when it was empty. He wished that he also could turn all this pain and sadness into something good. He longed for this ability but right now he only felt incredibly alone.

How badly he longed for Ulman to be right here next to him, as if this was just another sleepless night they shared. Artyom could almost hear Ulman’s footsteps walking up to him. Then he would feel a soft touch on his back, to avoid startling Artyom before he would sit down next to him.

“Don’t make such a long face,” Ulman would say, a bittersweet smile on his face but no blood or injuries visible. “Death isn’t too bad. My back has never been better.”

These thoughts were so vivid that Artyom was surprised when the chair next to him was empty. Artyom wondered not for the first time, if what Khan had said was true: had they destroyed heaven and hell in the war? Were all souls doomed to wander the metro even after death?

In the past Artyom had even asked Ulman about it, who had answered him, “There is so much shit and, in the end, I don't even get it to die?" But after a moment of consideration, Ulman had explained, "I wasn’t raised to be religious but if there is an afterlife, I don’t need to believe in it for it to be there and just because we can’t explain everything doesn’t mean that it is _divine._ ” He put quotation marks around the word. "Besides, if there is or was a heaven or hell, hell is surely empty because all the devils are here."

The statement had been spoken with so much confidence that it had over-whelmed Artyom. Then again, Ulman had never graced him by sugar-coating his answers. This type of honesty had also been used when something had changed, such as during their last night in _Polis;_ the only time the topic had come up again.

Ulman had returned with Khan and had found Artyom near a bridge. “I’ve been thinking about your ghosts. Dangerous I know,” he had started as he had leaned with his back against the railing. “It is always the ones that died defending stations, friends, family until the bitter end. Maybe they hold onto this world even beyond death because they need to fulfil their promise. So they … stay."

Back then Artyom had not really listened, his mind pre-occupied by what the Red Line might do and how they could stop it. Ulman had seemed to sense this, and without saying another word had placed a hand on his arm and rested his head against his side. Artyom had known that Ulman had understood and so he had rested his head on top of his – feeling a little less alone.

Artyom knew that he should have said something back in _Polis_ but he could not have known that the next time he would see Ulman was on the battlefield and the last time shortly afterwards.

Now his mind spun Ulman’s words around, what if he was right? Did this mean that even in death Ulman could not find peace? Did this mean that he was damned to roam the battleground of D6 until the end of times? Relive the moment someone put a bullet through his head again and again? Maybe Artyom should return to D6, to see if there were any lost souls of Rangers.

The mere thought caused his hands to shake. _No_! He would never return to D6 again. He did not want to be near all this pain. He wanted to get away from it as far as possible. How could he even call himself a Ranger when all he had ever done was bring destruction and death?

He did not have it in him to turn sadness, anger, and pain into something good. The only thing Artyom could hope was that Ulman had found peace. 


	2. Before

The weight on Ulman’s chest made it near impossible to breathe. The little air that managed inside his lungs felt like fire, so after a few controlled breaths Ulman coughed. A scream was stuck inside his throat as a sharp pain expanded from his ribs.

 _Well fuck._ He clenched his teeth, keeping his eyes shut as he tried to get a grip of the pain. He had managed to ignore the broken ribs during the battle, he would manage now too, he told himself. Even when he had no fucking idea what had happened in the last moments …

When he opened his eyes, Ulman barely recognised the blurry images. The tunnel was in shambles, filled with smoke and he could smell fire. For a moment, Ulman even doubted if he was still at the D6. But as his vision started to clear, he recognised the people lying on the ground: СПАРТА written on their uniforms.

Those were his people; injured and most of them probably dead. There were too many bodies, most flattened by the debris caused by that armoured train. After all what were they to the Reds? Just fucking scum.

At the thought, Ulman felt a bitter laugh get stuck inside his throat. He closed his eyes and with the last bit of effort, he managed to roll onto his back. There was pain in his arm, screaming at the weight but the pressure on his chest was reduced. Ulman could breathe again but really what was the point?

Even if he wouldn’t be injured, Ulman was sure that he would not make it out of here alive. He was just not lucky enough to have died when the Reds had crashed into their base.

What would it matter if Ulman pointed his Kalash at his chin and pressed the trigger? As the thought occurred to him, his finger rested above the trigger. At least it would be a death of his own choosing and not at the mercy of someone else.

Without meaning to, a snort escaped him. “Ah shit.” Wouldn’t he have deserved a better end than being forced into suicide by some Commies? Had he really fought against all this shit his whole life to let it end like this?

Time for self-pity was over and it did not suit him anyway, Ulman decided and opened his eyes again. He was still a Ranger and if he had to die, he would die trying.

This time he tried to ignore the destruction, the body parts, and his own pain. Instead, he tried to find the person who had been closest to him when this had gone to hell.

Clenching his teeth, Ulman managed to sit up but only to almost black out again. He fought extremely hard against the dark edges which enclosed his vision. Instead, he counted his breath and willed it to slow down. Slow but steady his vision started to clear and Ulman dared to look up. Not too far from him lay another Ranger. Despite lying on his chest, Ulman could see that he was breathing. Unfortunately, he also noticed that his leg was blood-soaked. 

Quietly Ulman counted to three and pushed himself up. He barely managed to stand as he became nauseas with each step. But he willed himself to at least reach the other Ranger before collapsing onto his knees next to him. He wanted to vomit but he did not have time for that luxury.

“Hey, kiddo,” Ulman mumbled and touched the Ranger’s shoulder. In response, he only heard a low moan. “It’s okay.” He wasn’t even sure if the other man could understand him, let alone recognise him but he couldn’t risk panic. While he continued to mumble reassuring words, he reached underneath his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Much to Ulman’s horror he recognised Alex’s pained face. “Fuck.”

 _Damn it,_ Ulman cursed himself. He had to get a grip! It was one thing if he blew his own brains out, but he could not leave Alex alone now.

As the younger Ranger became aware of their surrounding panic seemed to rise inside of him. Ulman could not blame him, he wasn’t sure if anyone could be trained to be prepared for this much destruction.

“Calm down, kid,” Ulman whispered as he placed his hand on the top of Alex’s head and ran his thumb over his skin – feeling the cold sweat. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Did it really matter that he was bullshitting? Ulman knew how desperate the situation was but that did not mean that Alex had to experience it. Then again, despite having lost a lot of blood, Alex was still conscious so maybe there was hope.

So he reached with his free hand for his own belt and as it came free he began to bind it above Alex’s wound. It looked like he had been hit by a bullet or shrapnel. “We will get out of here,” Ulman promised as he gave the belt a strong yank.

Ulman had expected Alex’s scream. He had even expected him to pass out, and maybe Ulman should have prepared him for the pain but, in his experience, that only made it worse. Taking another deep breath, Ulman pulled harder once more and felt tears sting in his eyes. Then he secured the belt.

Leaning forward, he could feel how quickly Alex was breathing. “Look at me,” Ulman beckoned and gently patted his cheek but the pain seemed to drag him further away. “Damn it, look at me!” Ulman ordered him.

“Over here!” Ulman heard an unfamiliar voice and bit his lip. They were still far away, so there was time, and there was smoke covering them so maybe that might be just enough to get to safety. So Ulman turned towards Alex, seeing that he was breaking out of the haze.

“There you are.” Ulman felt a genuine smile on his face. “Can you understand me?” he asked as he took his hand. He also reached for the gun that was lying next to Alex.

Alex nodded.

“Great, here is the plan and I will need your help,” Ulman began as he pressed the gun into Alex’s hands and crawled behind him. “You cover us, and I’ll drag you to that vent that we know about and the fucking Reds don’t.”

Then Ulman had to find Miller. He would be able to give further instruction and it was his responsibility to decide if the situation was so dire that they blew this whole place to hell.

A cold feeling began to spread inside Ulman at the thought that he might not be able to find Miller. Or maybe Miller was already dead … Ulman began to realise that this could mean that the chain of command had been reduced so much that the choice rested on his shoulders now. Was this why Polyanka had shown him Khan’s story? Would he have to kill his family in order to save the metro? Would this haunt him even in death?

 _Yes,_ but Ulman shook his head. This was not the time nor the place to think about this.

“Will your plan work?” he heard Alex ask.

 _It has to._ Ulman thought. It was the only plan they had, and it was shit plan as well. However, Ulman responded with an ease that belied the situation. “Sure will. Have I ever failed you?”

“No, sir.”

Ulman nodded and rested his hand on Alex’s shoulder. This time he asked if he was ready. When he responded with a nod, Ulman took him by the vest. He steeled himself for the pain that would come and gave Alex a strong pull while he pushed them towards the wall with his legs. The pain had almost caused him to scream but Ulman forced himself to remain silent. He could not give away their position, and he could not pass out either.

Suddenly Alex fired at something, and as Ulman looked up he could see a human shape within the smoke. “More to the left,” Ulman corrected Alex’s aim. Another shot, this time the person went down but not without shouting, revealing their exact location.

“Shit,” Ulman cursed and tried to move them faster. He watched again, and again as Alex missed targets, hitting only far and few in between. “Keep at it, Alex,” he tried to encourage him as the pain grew stronger, and Alex kept getting heavier and less responsive. They would never manage to reach safety without his cover-fire!

Suddenly Ulman saw a figure far too close and yanked his own Kalash free. One shot into his chest was enough to take him out. Then silence fell, which was strangely unsettling. Ulman blinked the tears away and turned back to Alex who lay limply against his leg. “Fuck.”

He wanted to reach for his cheek and check if he was still breathing. Before he could, Ulman felt another shadow creep up on them, so he aimed and shot. Then the shooting started again, and Ulman fired, and fired, and fired. His aim efficient even as his vision blurred.

They were sitting ducks and Ulman could not drag them to safety on his own when the Reds would not stop coming! It did not matter how many Ulman took out, more came their way. How long could he stand this ground before he had to leave Alex behind?

“Come on, Alex!” Ulman screamed, growing more desperate with each shot. “Wake the fuck up!”

Then he heard the mechanical clicking of his Kalash as he pressed the trigger. “No,” Ulman whispered in disbelieve as he looked at the empty gun. He looked at Alex, only to find that his gun was out of reach.

Ulman closed his eyes, feeling the cold mouth of a gun press against the back of his neck and abandoned the idea of being able to save them. He could only hope that Alex was already dead. It was a kinder fate than anything the Reds might do to him.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

Slowly Ulman raised his hands in surrender. He was not even sure if they would respect the gesture but what difference did it make now?

“A surrendering piece of shit of a fucking Ranger.”

Ulman did not go for the bait. Instead, he forced his breathing to slow down and the tears to stop. As the owner of the gun rounded him, Ulman lowered his hands, nobody stopped him because they knew that his gun was empty.

Ulman knew that he would not make it out of here alive, and if they did not shoot him, he would make them. After all, his knife was within reach now, and the Reds had guns. He would only have to reach for it …

As the steps stopped in front of him, Ulman opened his eyes again – first seeing the dirty boots. Then he took a deep breath, the tears were most likely not even visible given the blood on his face but he would be damned if he showed them any weakness. So he looked up, right into the barrel of a gun. Ulman did not even flinch.

He knew that he should be afraid, terrified even but the thought of dying today did not scare him. It even gave him comfort; he would not have to burry all their dead. He would not have to live through the horror of watching his family break apart under the strain. Not even Ulman had enough strength to help them through this. At least he had tried to do good all his life. He had tried to protect people and give comfort when possible, and maybe Pavel had been right that small actions could influence bigger ones but, in the end, Ulman was only one man. He did not need to be remembered, just knowing that his efforts helped in even the smallest way was enough for him.

“Any last words, Ranger?”

The gun was pressing against his forehead now. Ulman knew that the Red wanted him to cry and beg for mercy, but he remained silent. For him it was a blessing to know how it would end. He had been right, nobody lives forever, and that was alright. So, he closed his eyes and waited for the shot that would end his life.

He never heard it, but his life ended all the same. 


End file.
